


other than roses

by Beans (provetheworst)



Category: Gundam Unicorn, Universal Century Gundam
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Newtypes (Gundam)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/Beans
Summary: It's not Angelo's birthday, but Frontal decides to get him something anyway.
Relationships: Full Frontal/Angelo Sauper
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	other than roses

**Author's Note:**

> The names of the various members of the Royal Guard and the Sleeves are drawn from across the novels and manga and other sources. Personalities are drawn mostly from the void but a little from the manga. 
> 
> In general this story draws heavily on the novels, especially for Frontal and Angelo's whole Newtype-y situation. None of it's really contradicted by the anime but it's not made explicit onscreen either? So.

Angelo Sauper, like most spacenoids, has a birthday. Full Frontal is as sure of this as he’s ever been sure of anything. At one point, Angelo was born. He had parents for a while, past tense, and now does not. They’ve got that lack in common. It’s been well over two years, and other members of the Royal Guard have had birthdays repeatedly; most of the Sleeves have, too. Not all of them mark the occasion, but he’s made note of the passage nonetheless, and offered leave when possible and appropriate. 

In all that time, Angelo has not once mentioned his birthday. He has not even thought of it, as far as Frontal can recall, not even while eating cake with some of his fellow Royal Guard. Frontal hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, particularly, but he had noticed Angelo was particularly cheerful for a moment, and had checked in more closely than he otherwise might have. 

Somewhere over the past few years, he has gotten - used to the noise that is Angelo. It wasn’t like this at first. But now he hears Angelo in the back of his mind nearly all the time and sometimes he notices if Angelo is especially upset or happy or tired, and he checks in, makes sure. If he’s going to be a proper representative for all spacenoids, surely he should do what he can to understand this one. Angelo is - like and unlike other people Frontal has interacted with. Not representative, but not as much of an outlier as he thinks.

It’s nice, having that constant background presence. 

In any case, for all that he can hear Angelo, it has not helped on the birthday front, and Frontal would like to surprise him. Cuaron had mentioned getting a gift for his girlfriend back on his home colony, once, surprising her with it. It is not that Frontal and Angelo have that sort of relationship, per se. But - there’s something to the notion of surprising Angelo with a gift. Frontal would like to try it. Would like to measure Angelo’s reaction, feel what sort of emotions it would provoke.

Maybe Angelo does not want to remember his birthday. That’s fine. But they’re far out from Christmas, and - Frontal isn’t _impatient_ , per se, has no reason to be, but he wants a good reason for doing this, and then he remembers - it is very near the day he was first awoken, the day he opened his eyes and was told he was Full Frontal and that he was to be an avatar of hope for all spacenoids. Not quite a birthday. And it was shortly after _that_ when he met Angelo, heard that voice crying out, and made his first independent choices.

Buying others gifts on your own birthday isn’t usually how it’s done, but Frontal has not exactly told anyone how he came to be and Angelo has not told him when he came to be, and maybe it’s fine, then, to compromise, to use this sort-of anniversary as something close enough. A decent excuse. They’ve known each other nearly three years now. So.

“Junior Lieutenant Dakka,” Frontal says; Dakka starts, but hides his surprise well.

“Captain! I didn’t notice you there. I’m sorry.” Dakka salute sharply, until Frontal nods, and he lowers his hand. “Your orders, sir?”

“I have a request, not an order,” Frontal says plainly. “I’d like to get Angelo a birthday present.”

“Ah! It’s his birthday?” Dakka asks, perking up.

“No.”

“Then …”

“I need help with a gift.”

“But if it’s not his birthday.” Dakka stops, and shakes his head. “I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

“Lieutenant Sauper has elected not to provide us with his birthday, but I’d like to get him something,” Frontal tries to explain, hopeful this will clear things up. From the look on Dakka’s face, it does not.

“Let me get Zechst,” Dakka says after a moment. “He and Angelo are friends.”

“Are you not friends?”

“I mean, yeah, but he knows him better,” Dakka says, then pauses. “Unless you want it to be a secret?”

Frontal nods. “I don’t want Angelo to know until I give it to him. But I think the other members of the Royal Guard can be trusted, at least. Use your discretion.”

“Right.” Dakka nods, eyes bright. “Right! A top secret mission! You can trust us, sir. I’m going to enlist the other guards. We can make it a party!”

“A party.” Frontal considers this, then nods. “Thank you, Junior Lieutenant. Tell Ensign Zechst to report to me at his earliest convenience.”

“Yes, sir!”

-

“Full Frontal, sir,” Zechst says, very earnestly. “Junior Lieutenant Dakka told me you had an urgent request?”

“That’s right.” Frontal turns around, looking at the young officer instead of peering out the window at Palau’s scenery. “I need to buy a gift for Angelo.”

“Oh!” Zechst beams. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s not his birthday,” Frontal says, because that seems more straightforward than how he’d tried to explain it to Dakka.

Zechst, unfortunately, does not seem any more comprehending than Dakka was. “Right. Okay?”

“I don’t know when his birthday is, but I’m getting him a birthday present,” Frontal explains. He clasps his hands behind his back. There are a lot of things he’s very good at, but, apparently, explaining why he’s getting a gift for the head of his Royal Guard is not among them. That might be - embarrassing, maybe. (Somewhere, across the colony, Angelo grows concerned, and Frontal has to reassure him with the mental equivalent of a pat on the head. Nothing for Angelo to worry about.)

“I see.” Zechst nods, very seriously. “Ah, you could - no, a rose would be too obvious. He might get insulted.”

“Would he?”

“Well, providing you with roses is his duty, isn’t it? And I - well. So it might be a little … you wouldn’t want him to think it was some kind of dig at him. Like he’s not doing his job well enough. So that’s out. But he does like roses.”

“They’re very fitting,” Frontal agrees. “He is the rose of Neo Zeon.”

After a long pause, Zechst says. “I see. Well. Okay. Okay. No roses. Because he’s … okay. But he does like … hm. I was going to say, he does laundry a lot, but laundry detergent’s a terrible gift. Ah, some clothes, maybe, for his days off? Or some nice soap - no, no, not soap, that’s stupid. Maybe some cologne or perfume?”

“He does appreciate being clean.” Frontal considers this. “And he does like to smell good. Thank you, Ensign.”

“You’re welcome?”

“Oh, before you go.” Frontal turns around again, looking out the window. “Junior Lieutenant Dakka suggested a party. I would urge you and the rest of the Royal Guard to take this matter very seriously.”

“The matter of - a party?”

“For Angelo,” Frontal clarifies. “I expect you to have everything prepared for 1900 hours on Thursday.”

“Yes, sir!” Ensign Zechst says, resolute. “Thank you, sir!”

“I trust you all to carry this out with utmost secrecy.”

“Of course, sir. Angelo won’t hear a word of it.”

“You’re dismissed.”

-

On day three of party planning, Frontal has to lay down a rule: the other members of the Royal Guard aren’t allowed to tell him about the party, either. When they come to report to him, he has to shut Angelo out, and Angelo’s been getting increasingly concerned, which is the exact opposite of what Frontal wants. He trusts the men under his command to fulfill this task; they’ve made parties happen in less time before. (He cannot quite explain to them why he needs to stay out of the loop. It’s not his nature to lie, usually, but he waves them off, says he has more important matters to attend to, and acts as if he is less invested in the matter than he is, and that seems to work. It also lowers Angelo’s stress considerably.)

There _are_ other things for him to do, that are arguably of more importance, so he focuses on that - on glad-handing with politicians, meeting with other military personnel, doing military drills in Sinanju. All of these things are of strategic important.

Keeping Angelo happy is also of strategic importance. It’s good practice in interpersonal relationships and maintaining his Guards’ morale. And - he wants to know what it will feel like. To surprise Angelo with a gift and a party. 

After another long meeting, Angelo standing at attention off to the side and behind him, Frontal watches the door close then turns to Angelo. “Lieutenant.”

“Captain?”

“I hope you aren’t too bored by these meetings.”

Angelo laughs. “They’re not the most riveting stuff, but you handle them well, so I don’t mind. Just getting to see you succeed - that’s enough to keep me from getting bored.”

“I see.” Frontal rises from his desk. He considers going to the window, but goes to Angelo, instead, standing in front of him for a moment, looking down. Angelo’s not much taller than when Frontal found him, but he’s broadened slightly - still slight, but less sickly-thin - and seems larger with confidence. His eyes, once flat and listless and often-combative, are now bright with interest and resolute determination instead. Seeing him happy, seeing him thrive - Frontal wants this for all spacenoids. Angelo comes first, of course. Angelo _is_ the first person he’s truly known.

“Captain …” Angelo starts, then hesitates for a moment, in a way he hasn’t for at least a year. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

He hasn’t asked that in quite some time, either; Frontal’s given him permission to speak as he pleases whenever he sees fit. With some discretion, of course - not during meetings so much. But. If they’re alone. It’s troubling that he thinks he has to ask. Frontal looks out the window. “Of course.”

“Is - I’m not questioning you, but.” Angelo pauses, uncertain; it takes him a moment to come up with the words. “Is everything alright? Are you. Alright.”

“What?” Frontal raises his head slightly, caught off guard.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Angelo says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have questioned it.”

“Angelo,” Frontal says, and thinks about it, then puts a hand on Angelo’s shoulder. A little thrill goes through Angelo, and he stares up at Frontal, wide-eyed and full of a barely-subdued manic joy. “I appreciate your concern. There really isn’t anything to worry about; everything’s going according to plan so far.”

“Good!”

Frontal pauses for a moment, then says, “I think you’re the first person to ask that.”

“Ah.” Angelo can’t seem to stop staring at him. Frontal knows this because he is watching Angelo intently. He has a moment where he thinks - maybe he should take off the mask, let Angelo look him in the eye. Maybe that would provide Angelo with some sort of reassurance or comfort. “Is that so?”

He almost doesn’t do it, but - why not. He lifts his hand from Angelo’s shoulder and removes the mask. “Thank you.”

“Sir!” Angelo stands up even straighter, somehow, than he was before, at peak alertness. His expression is stiff, but from the link between them - there’s a whole explosion of emotion, absolutely overwhelmed, that washes into the blank spaces of Frontal. He watches Angelo curiously. Usually Angelo wears every emotion openly, but he’s trying hard to conceal most of this, even though he _must_ know Frontal can feel it. There’s no one else to witness this. Odd.

Frontal nods, and after a moment, says, “It’s nearly time for dinner, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Angelo pauses. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll go get your meal.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Angelo’s halfway to the door before he says, “So no one’s - ever just checked if you’re okay?”

“No,” Frontal says, puzzled. “But as I said, I do appreciate it.”

“Huh.” There’s more than a touch of sadness to Angelo’s reaction this time; Frontal turns it over, sifters through the feelings, fascinated, and Angelo subsides, comforted by the way that Frontal accepts without judgment. (What would Frontal have to judge? He doesn’t know. He finds it interesting, feeling what Angelo feels, as a contrast to his own lacks. And it seems to be a good outlet for Angelo - knowing his feelings are understood, that he has an outlet as infinitely capable as Frontal. If he’s going to be a vessel to all mankind, well. He can handle one man’s feelings. They’re stronger than anyone else’s. This is good practice. Frontal maybe enjoys it. He’s not sure that’s the word, precisely, but. If pressed, not that anyone would dare, he would say he enjoys knowing Angelo this way.)

Frontal turns to look out the window. “You do check, though. Even if you don’t always ask outright. You’re always making sure. I should have realized.”

“I - yes, sir.”

Frontal says nothing more, and Angelo leaves, thoughts and emotions a constant buzz. The conversation has shaken him, somehow, but not necessarily in a bad way. It’s interesting to observe from afar.

Soon after, Angelo brings Frontal his dinner, and then leaves to take care of his other duties around the colony, and Frontal sits and eats his meal and replies to yet more missives from politicians scattered across the colonies - all covert and guarded and much of it dismissive, but they _are_ responding. That is better than at the outset, when Frontal first became an actor on the political stage. Before the Second Coming of the Red Comet, after the Axis Shock, Neo Zeon was in a weakened state. He is here to strengthen it. He is doing his duty.

-

Frontal goes shopping one afternoon. He takes Angelo aside, first, says, “Lieutenant, I need to apologize. I have to do something top secret for an hour this afternoon.”

“Ah?”

Frontal taps at the side of his head. “I’m going to have to keep you out for a little while. I apologize.”

“Oh.” Angelo looks up at him, brows furrowed, but manages a nod. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I know it distressed you, earlier this week.” Frontal looks away for a moment, thinking. “I promise it’s nothing to worry about. I should be able to tell you about it soon.”

Angelo looks at him as if he’s searching for something, eyes darting between the mask and his unconcealed mouth, before giving up and settling on an expression that approximates a smile. The emotion behind it is hollow, lacking the usual noise and color of Angelo’s feelings and reactions. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Of course.” Frontal lifts a hand, thinking about patting Angelo on the shoulder again, then thinks the better of it. He doesn’t want to be too familiar, or to overwhelm Angelo. Angelo does seem to like it on the rare occasions Frontal touches him, but the Lieutenant is already experiencing a lot of stress and Frontal doesn’t want to add to it just now. “It’s important to me. That I not distress you.”

“You never -“

“Don’t lie.” Frontal smiles at him, to show he doesn’t mean that as a real criticism. They both know it’s not true, but he’s not upset. Angelo laughs a little, under his breath, lowering his head and looking off to the side. A slight flush rises to his cheeks. Frontal does not remark on it. “Anyway, please don’t worry.”

-

Ensign Zechst looks absolutely terrified despite his casual outfit. He’s dressed quite fashionably, as Frontal has learned. It’s not that the Captain cares about fashion, necessarily, but it’s important to be able to observe people’s style and how that can reflect their manner and attitude. Zechst is young and fashionable and energetic, and more importantly he’s friends with Angelo.

Frontal himself is dressed down, as well, wearing sunglasses instead of the mask, hair pulled back, a hat pulled low over his forehead. He doesn’t want to be recognized, whether as himself or as Char. Angelo’s helped him dress a little better on his rare days off and incognito; the trench coat and other clothes he wore the day they met were, apparently, _terrible_. That was one of the first things Angelo ever told him, before they were comfortable with each other. He’d barely known what to do with Angelo back then, and had no chance at understanding his emotions the way he does now.

“I thought you were going to get him perfume or something,” Ensign Zechst says, hesitantly, tugging the hems of his sleeves down over his hands and curling his fingers up in the fabric. Frontal can practically hear the dropped _sir_ , forcefully omitted, as they’re not out here as military personnel but as two compatriots on an errand. They are shopping. Together.

“I am,” Frontal says. He looks straight ahead. “I need help.”

“I got that part.” Zechst hesitates, then points to a shop a little way ahead. “Let’s go here.”

“Thank you.”

Frontal follows behind him, appraising the Ensign’s behavior. Frontal has little experience with casual interaction. It’s not difficult, exactly, but he doesn’t always get the tone quite right the way he does when doing the sorts of things he’s been programmed and trained for. Apparently, no one who made him thought he’d ever go try to buy a birthday gift for a -

Frontal asks, “Do you think Angelo and I are friends?”

Zechst puts a hand over his face, sighs heavily, and says, “Am I supposed to answer that?”

“Hm.”

Zechst laughs, dropping his hand and turning to look at Frontal instead of the shelves. His smile is surprisingly warm. “You’re really weird sometimes, did you know that?”

“I’m aware.”

“Anyway, I mean, if somebody made me guess, I’d say sure?” Zechst laughs again. “Sure. You two are … you seem close.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh-huh,” Zechst says, and turns away, finally, looking back at some of the products on display. A store employee comes over after a moment, offering assistance, but Zechst waves them off for the time being.

Frontal follows his lead. He’s never been shopping before.

“Hm, what about this one?” Zechst asks; he gets a little paper card and sprays some perfume on it, holding it up in front of Frontal’s face.

Frontal narrows his eyes.

“You smell it,” Zechst says after a moment, this time stifling his laughter.

Frontal assesses the situation, then declares, “It smells like burning wood.”

“They call it a _campfire_ scent,” Zechst says. “On Earth, people have to light fires to keep warm sometimes. When they’re out in the woods, or, you know, camping.”

“I see.”

“Dad used to go camping all the time.” Zechst hums, and puts the little card in a waste receptacle, moving along. He keeps lifting the lids off of bottles and sniffing thoughtfully at the inside of the lid without spraying anything. No one else in the store is doing it quite like that. (Most of the store is devoted to other things, in fact - soap, shampoo, things of that nature. Frontal thinks maybe he’ll buy some of those for Angelo, too. Angelo does like his baths.) “So he always used to get candles and stuff that smelled like that. I guess for me it’s nostalgic, but you wouldn’t have any reason to think so, huh? No, and Angelo wouldn’t, either. Rose is kind of an old lady smell, so I don’t think we should go with that, but I wanna find something that reminds me of him, you know?”

Frontal nods thoughtfully. “Smell and memory are closely linked.”

“Yup.”

“I don’t think the smells I associate with Angelo are usually used for perfume.”

Zechst turns to stare at him, then looks away, shaking his head. “Not gonna ask. Not gonna ask.”

“I think of … clean laundry, and metal,” Frontal says, despite Zechst’s staunch insistence on not asking. Just because he won’t ask doesn’t mean Frontal can’t provide more context. 

“They do make perfume with linen as a note,” Zechst says, thoughtfully, crouching down and picking up a little jar of solid perfume. He takes a deep breath, then holds it out to Frontal.

It does smell like linen, and lavender, maybe. It’s very clean. There’s a note of something sharp to it, too, like ginger, maybe, or pepper.

“This one,” Frontal decides. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Zechst gives him a thumbs up, and gets the actual spray bottle.

Frontal takes both, just in case, and then finally gives up and asks an employee for help. “I think my friend will like this,” he says, trying not to sound too concerned, “and I’d like to get some soap. That is … like this, but not this.”

“Hmmm,” the employee says, and then leads him on a wending trip through the store that somehow ends with Frontal burdened with about ten different things that all, to some degree or another, remind him of Angelo in bizarre and abstract ways. Zechst trails after him, absolutely delighted by the whole process.

When they finally leave, Zechst tugs at Frontal’s arm, and Frontal leans down to listen. “That was absolutely wild.”

“Was it?”

“I’m not allowed to tell anybody, am I.”

“No.”

“God.” Zechst laughs out loud, stepping away. “It’s like you’ve never been to a store before.”

“Hm,” Frontal says, as mysteriously as he can manage, because he hasn’t, and Zechst starts laughing again.

Zechst shoves his hands in his pockets, grinning broadly. “Angelo’s gonna lose his fucking mind.”

Not quite a question, but still concerned: “In a good way.”

“Yeah, dude, _yeah_ in a good way, what? I mean - sorry, I shouldn’t call you dude. Sorry, sir.” He stands to attention, looking sort of like he wants to bolt. He’s more penitent for calling Frontal _dude_ than he has been for actual mistakes, and it’s not as if he’s an impolite or impertinent soldier. Zechst is more than capable of showing proper levels of remorse. His concern over referring to Frontal casually is odd.

“It’s fine,” Frontal says, watching him curiously. “No one’s ever called me that, but I’m not upset.”

Zechst sighs heavily, relaxing only slightly. His shoulders slump for a moment, then he forces himself to stand at attention again. Still, he attempts a wavering smile. “You’ve lived a strange life, Captain.”

Frontal reacts appropriately and laughs. “Yes.”

-

Thursday morning passes smoothly, but at noon, Angelo marches into Frontal’s office, hands clenched tightly around the tray that holds Frontal’s lunch, knuckles gone white. “Captain, what’s going on?”

Frontal looks up from the latest missive he’s been working on, on orders from Neo Zeon’s top officials. “What do you mean?

“Everyone’s acting _weird_ ,” Angelo says, setting Frontal’s tray down with a jolt, then taking a startled step backward, before patting the tray as if to reassure it or apologize for the harsh treatment, then he looks up at Frontal, then down again. He’s very, very tense. 

Frontal is very, very empty. Their link is always there, but he focuses on it, on being a place for Angelo to project upon, a way to exorcise the things that plague him. Angelo has said - or thought? Frontal forgets - that Frontal makes him feel clean. Frontal is one vast canvas that can be painted over and over again and never be ruined.

For once, it doesn’t quite help. “No one will talk to me today, it’s. Captain. Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” Frontal says, quicker than he usually would. “No, not at all.”

“It’s just been.” Angelo pauses, fists clenching and unclenching. He stares at the floor. “I’ve - ever since you and - I don’t want to let you down.”

“You haven’t,” Frontal says, half-rising from his seat. He isn’t sure why.

“I’m sorry.” Angelo takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t burden you with this. You would tell me if something was wrong.”

“I would. It’s not.”

“Right, thank you.” Angelo rubs at his face, then nods. “Enjoy your lunch, sir. I’ll be back a little later.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Frontal begins to eat, then, swallowing quickly, says, “Angelo.”

“Hm?”

“It seemed more appropriate to call you Angelo than by your title.”

Angelo speaks very quickly: “I’m not getting kicked out, am I?”

“No. I just thought.” Frontal pauses. “I’m sorry. No. You’re doing well. I have no complaints with your performance.”

“Right. Thank you, Captain. I’m sorry, again.”

“I’ll see you later,” Frontal says, and does not call him _Angelo_ or _Lieutenant_ or anything at all, and wonders if Angelo can tell that Frontal would like to pat him on the head or hug him or perform _some_ sort of physical contact even if he isn’t sure what.

Probably not. Angelo is distracted at the moment.

-

Frontal keeps checking in all day, more attentive than usual, to the point where Angelo outright asks, _What?_

Frontal does not have a good answer for that. Frontal gives the mental equivalent of a shrug.

Angelo remains nervous. This will pass soon enough, Frontal decides. Just a few more hours. Right after dinner.

-

Ensign Cuaron, who Frontal has not spoken to directly about this plan, stands at Frontal’s side, very cautious, and whispers, “Sir, we’re prepared to deploy Operation Shock And Awe at any moment, sir.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Frontal asks, lifting one side of his mouth in a self-assured smile.

“We came up with about a dozen different names over the past four days, honestly, sir,” Ensign Cuaron says, still hushed. “I was a fan of Operation Piece of Cake, but the others liked this one best.”

“I like Piece of Cake,” Frontal tells him, and decides, after saying so, that this is true.

“Right? Anyway. At your word.”

Frontal nods. “Which room?”

“Conference room B.”

“Right,” Frontal says, and enters the mess hall. The other members of his Royal Guard are finishing up their meals; Angelo and Zechst are sitting together, with Zechst making a truly legendary effort to keep Angelo calm. Angelo looks about ready to murder someone. Frontal hopes he won’t; it would be a nuisance to clean up after. He’d keep Angelo safe from prosecution, of course, but even so.

Angelo notices him before anyone else does, jerking his head up.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Frontal says. “If you would all join me in conference room B in five minutes, I have a very important announcement.”

Angelo’s out of his seat and by his side in a flash. “Captain!”

“There’s no rush, Lieutenant, you can finish eating if you’d like.”

Angelo scoffs. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Angelo looks puzzled for a moment, before his expression softens. Then he seems to catch himself, eyes darting around, making sure no one caught that.

“If you want to walk with me, though, you can,” Frontal offers, and leaves the room, and Angelo does, indeed, walk with him, several steps behind. Frontal considers this, then: “You can stand by my side. If you’d like. No need for formality.”

Angelo’s spirit glows so brightly it’s a wonder he isn’t on fire. Even without their bond, his pride and delight are clearly written in his face and posture. Frontal is a void, but even he feels warmed by that glow.

Frontal pauses several feet down the hall from the entrance to the conference room, and Angelo keeps walking for a few steps before hesitating, realizing Frontal has stopped. “Do you want me to open the door, or …”

“No, we should wait for the others.” Frontal pauses. “It’s good news, by the way. I don’t want you to worry.”

“Ah. Thank you. Captain.” Angelo’s hands are trembling minutely. Frontal doubts anyone would notice.

The others finally make their way from the mess hall, at varying degrees of ease, and Frontal says, “Right, shall we?”

Zechst pushes the door open then half turns so he can hold it open with his back against the door handle, gesturing to encourage everyone to enter. The lights aren’t on yet.

Angelo does not seem to appreciate this. “What.”

“Lieutenant,” Frontal says, not really a warning. He touches the small of Angelo’s back, nudging him forward. Angelo jumps a full foot in the air, then tries to play it off like he didn’t, even as Dakka and Reil start laughing.

“Shut up!” Angelo snaps, and Frontal says, “ _Angelo,_ ” sharply, and Angelo bristles but finally enters the room, which means everyone else can, too; it’s Sergi who turns on the lights so the dim environment becomes clearer.

Angelo stops in the middle of the room and stares, taking everything in. The others are all quiet; a few of them are holding their breath.

There’s a cake. There are gifts _not_ from Frontal. There’s a huge banner that says IT’S NOT YOUR BIRTHDAY ANGELO on it hanging from one side of the room to the other. Someone, somewhere, found balloons.

“Captain,” Zechst whispers, having snuck up behind him. “You should say something, sir.”

Frontal nods, then clears his throat. “Lieutenant Sauper, I noticed that all the other members of the Royal Guard have had at least some acknowledgment of their birthdays. It’s been three years since we met, and you haven’t celebrated the occasion once, so I took it upon myself to see to it that we could all at least honor your continued existence this way.”

“I.” Angelo is still staring at the banner. “Today is.”

“I thought, since you’ve neglected to inform anyone of your birthday, that the day I recruited you to join the Royal Guard would be a suitable replacement,” Frontal says. He has his hands clasped behind his back to keep himself from doing anything absurd, but something about Angelo’s expression makes him disregard his own wisdom. Against all common sense, he gives Angelo a hug. (The thing is: _technically_ this is the day he recruited Angelo. It is, more importantly, the day they met, and the first time Frontal killed another person outside of a mobile suit. He is never going to say that part out loud in front of anyone else. Probably not even in front of Angelo. There are parts of Angelo reserved for Frontal alone; Angelo values his privacy deeply, and he respects that.)

“Captain.” Angelo mumbles, voice muffled against Frontal’s chest, half-collapsed as he leans against him, absolutely overwhelmed. He doesn’t think he deserves to be touching Frontal but doesn’t want to refuse, either; he keeps wavering, trying to decide if he can hug back or not, until Frontal thinks, _Yes, please,_ and Angelo finally brings his arms up to wrap around Frontal in return.

He doesn’t hold the embrace for long. Dakka is already cutting slices of cake, and the second Angelo detaches himself from Frontal - far sooner than he’d expected - Reil says, “We all got you stuff, Lieutenant!”

“I keep thinking we’re supposed to sing happy birthday or something,” Sergi says, sneaking in to grab the first possible slice of cake and then going to hide behind Cuaron even though Cuaron is really no larger than him. 

“We still could -“

“Absolutely not,” Angelo says. “It’s not my birthday. I’ll kill you.”

“No, you won’t,” Sergi says, and starts singing; Dakka joins in for half a line until Angelo’s glare quiets him down, and before he can get far enough into the short little song to even mention Angelo’s name, Angelo has him in a headlock, ruffling his hair roughly. “Ow, ow, ow!”

Angelo laughs, chomping on Sergi’s hair before letting him go. “I warned you!”

“You did.” Sergi puts a hand to the side of his head, then feigns a swoon, sinking to the ground dramatically. “I can’t believe you killed me. Killed me dead, just like that.”

Angelo nudges at him with one foot, not quite a kick, before resting his shoe very, very gently just above Sergi’s chest. “Ensign Zechst, looks like you’re getting a promotion, since Junior Lieutenant Sergi is dead. Terrible shame. It was an accident, right?”

“Wow,” Zechst deadpans. “Thank you, Angelo, I’m so honored. This is how military ranks work.”

“It’s a field promotion,” Angelo scoffs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You think Sergi’s gonna get a two-rank promotion now that he’s dead?” Dakka asks, helping the other officer to his feet once Angelo’s backed off to get a slice of cake of his own.

“We don’t typically promote traitors, even after their death,” Frontal says, and everyone freezes for a moment, staring at him. They all seem to have almost completely forgotten his presence. He may be a large man, but he has that effect, sometimes, blending into a room unless he actually wants attention. Even Angelo was a little distracted, though he seems less concerned than the others.

“Sir! Sorry, sir,” Sergi says, frantically trying to straighten his uniform once he’s back on his feet. “We’re just joking -“

“Really?” Frontal asks, smiling in a way to show that he’s well aware; that he’s joking, too. He thought it would have been obvious, but he doesn’t joke around with the Guard often, so it must come as a surprise. He tries to maintain a certain distance, but - maybe it’s good for morale to pretend, every now and then, to be a little more human than he truly is.

“Besides, if anybody’s getting branded a traitor, it’s Angelo for just murdering a guy, right? Fake murdering,” Dakka says, half-sitting on the edge of the table, apparently less in awe of the notion of Frontal joking around than Sergi. He hasn’t been around quite as long, to be fair. “He’s gonna get fake court martialled, maybe a whole fake state execution.”

“No,” Frontal says. “No, I would break him out of fake prison before that could happen.”

“Of _course_ you would.” Zechst laughs, and looks around, and finally realizes that Angelo still doesn’t have a piece of cake; he ends up tussling with Dakka over the slicer for a moment before fixing that problem.

The Guard are particularly lively today. Angelo seems surprised but pleased; as the others start chattering among themselves again, Frontal is content to be ignored.

Someone brought alcohol, and Frontal considers citing some sort of regulation about drinking on duty, but opts not to. There’s food and drink and he gets to watch Angelo enjoying himself. It’s not worth pulling rank on something like that, not when Angelo’s so full of warmth. Besides, this is good for morale and unit cohesion.

Frontal sits down and has a slice of cake.

-

The little party eventually ends, as these things do, and Sergi and Cuaron start cleaning up as everyone else leaves. Angelo moves to help, but they shoo him off, and he looks vaguely bewildered for a moment until Frontal says, “Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Captain!” Angelo’s at attention right away, looking up at him, seeming particularly in awe of Frontal today.

“I hadn’t realized anyone else was getting you gifts, or I would have brought mine,” Frontal says, by way of apology. “I do have something for you. I’m sorry; I wanted to wait until the others were gone so they wouldn’t think I was suggesting something untoward.”

Angelo appears to have malfunctioned. His thoughts all come to a dead halt, fixating on that last sentence. “What?”

“I got you something,” Frontal explains patiently. He hopes he hasn’t misstepped here.

Apparently, Angelo does not think any of this is real. Apparently he’s convinced this is some sort of dream or hallucination. Frontal doesn’t know what to do about that, so he leaves it alone.

Frontal hesitates. “Unless you think it’s inappropriate. In which case, I apologize -“

“No, no,” Angelo hurries to say. “No, it’s not - I just didn’t expect this. I didn’t realize you even remembered what today - what it …”

“Why would I forget?”

“I don’t know.” With a strange smile, Angelo lowers his head, and falls into step behind Frontal.

Frontal has never felt this much happiness. It’s nice, he thinks; he wouldn’t mind feeling it again and again. He hopes one day, through his actions, all spacenoids can feel this joy, once they’re fully free of Earth’s shackles. For now, Angelo is feeling it, and Frontal feels it through him, and that’s enough.


End file.
